


There is a Place

by badjujuboo (miztrezboo)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-07
Updated: 2011-12-07
Packaged: 2017-10-27 01:06:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/289891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miztrezboo/pseuds/badjujuboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><strong>Summary: </strong>It's hard to continue ignoring someone when they constantly pop up in the place you go to ignore them.</p><p><strong>Prompt: </strong>#31 The old gnarled tree at the far side of the lake is Scorpius's favourite thinking spot. It has been for years. Everyone knows this and no one's ever bothered him about it. So why now, in their final year, is Albus Potter suddenly lingering around it all the time?</p><p><strong>Notes: </strong>for the gorgeous <b>bryoneybrynn</b> whose words and characters I adore and hope this ended up being something along the lines of what you were looking for! xx As always, S is the beta goddess who I can NOT live without. Written for the AS/S prompt fest over at <b>the_ass_fest</b> on LJ.</p><hr/>
    </blockquote>





	There is a Place

**Author's Note:**

> **Summary:** It's hard to continue ignoring someone when they constantly pop up in the place you go to ignore them.
> 
>  **Prompt:** #31 The old gnarled tree at the far side of the lake is Scorpius's favourite thinking spot. It has been for years. Everyone knows this and no one's ever bothered him about it. So why now, in their final year, is Albus Potter suddenly lingering around it all the time?
> 
>  **Notes:** for the gorgeous **bryoneybrynn** whose words and characters I adore and hope this ended up being something along the lines of what you were looking for! xx As always, S is the beta goddess who I can NOT live without. Written for the AS/S prompt fest over at **the_ass_fest** on LJ.
> 
> * * *

There Is A Place

 _He's there again_.

Right in that spot that no one _ever_ went to, that Scorpius thought was obviously _his_ spot. Yet there _he_ was again. Scorpius stopped and kicked at a rock in the path, this new intrusion completely unwanted and rather annoying. Especially considering who the annoyance was.

Albus, "star of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team," "out and proud and head of Hogwarts first LGBT faction," "friend to all and enemy to none" bleeding Potter. Gods, he was so fucking . . . .

Perfect.

Scorpius huffed in frustration, hiding quickly behind a bush when he noted Albus start at the noise, loud in the mostly quiet edge of the forest. Stupid silent forest, stupid hidden bloody giant oak tree with a perfect hollow to lean your back on and twist in its trunk to hide you mostly from view. Stupid bloody Albus Potter for being in Scorpius' thinking place.

Scorpius lay there on the ground, snow tickling his nose, not even breathing as he listened for signs of Albus' approach. Nothing, not even a whisper of wind through bare branches. Not even a birdcall. Just as he was on the verge of passing out, the loud crunch of shoes on ice-covered snow rang out and Scorpius allowed himself one tiny breath in as the gradually-increasing-in-sound noises passed right by him, heading back down the same path Scorpius had just come up.

 _Good_ , he thought. This was his place, his private sanctuary, and had been from the moment he found it in a mad rush out of the Great Hall the day after he arrived at Hogwarts. Gods, had it really been seven years since he'd first come here? He could remember it all as if it were yesterday.

The way his father's hand had felt in his as they stood on the platform. The air pregnant with first year possibilities and his head filled with the excitement of actually going to the place of which he'd so often heard his father and uncles talk with such longing. He'd get to see the cold, underground room that had the largest fireplace of all the common areas just to keep its inhabitants warm. He'd see the tentacles of the Giant Squid wave at him through the murky-watered windows that adorned the dorms. He'd finally understand what his Uncle Blaise meant about the mermaid flashing her bits in the boys' bathroom (not that he understood what "bits" were or how "big her tits are," but he always got a laugh from his uncle when he blushed at the mere mention).

And most of all, he'd be a Slytherin. Just like his father and his father's father and so on and so forth through the known Malfoy line.

When the Hat had screamed "Hufflepuff!" Scorpius had gone numb. He moved over to the table filled with excited first years and congratulatory older House members and it proved once again how bloody _fluffy_ those Hufflepuffs were, because not one spared him a harsh word or squinted look because he was a Malfoy, a Malfoy not in Slytherin.

Scorpius had stayed up half the night trying to figure out what had gone wrong. He knew he'd always been something of an introvert. His father had constantly been at him to be more outgoing, more like Bobby Goyle, Draco's godson—he even went as far as hiring a private tutor for lessons in public speaking, not realising the problem wasn't that Scorpius was shy; he just didn't have anything to say. Now he wished he had paid more attention to what Professor Digby had banged on about, or at the very least had taken notes when his Uncles Greg and Blaise had waxed lyrical about good times had down in the depths of Hogwarts.

But as much as he liked to think he could be if pressed, Scorpius had never been the cunning, devious type. He didn't like to lie or "stretch the truth," as he often heard his father say.

And didn't his father have a _lot_ to say about the house Scorpius had been placed in.

 _"No son of mine . . . ."_

 _". . . write to the Headmistress and see about you getting re-Sorted . . . ."_

 _"Of course, I blame your mother for this."_

And so on and so forth. It had killed Scorpius that day to knowingly disappoint his father. To realise that just by one tiny chance of fate he'd brought about the near ruin of their relationship.

Not that there had been much of one to start with, but there was less then.

There was near about nothing now, but that was more a mutual decision than the previous had been.

With a huff, Scorpius dusted himself off from his little face-plant in the snow and continued down the path he'd trodden so well over the past seven years that in the summer months there was a barely discernible (if one looked) path to where he was now headed. The tree. His tree. As Scorpius approached its large canopy—which in warmer times he'd lain under and let his mind wander for hours when having a rare day off from study—he recalled that it was the morning after the "Sorting Incident" when he was in the middle of wallowing in self-pity at _his_ tree, that he also became aware of Albus Potter.

It wasn't as if he hadn't heard of Albus, or any of the Potters, before. No, his father had constantly ranted about the Potter family for as long as Scorpius could remember. It was always "that ridiculous show-off" and his "perfect bloody family and even the ginger made for a loyal wife," and then "at least his son made it into the family house!" That last particular barb was his father's favourite to slip into conversation the first few times Scorpius had gone home for the holidays. Back when he didn't use the excuse of exams to study for or extra credit work he was doing in Arithmancy and the Potions work he was so poor at (a fact that the Portrait of Headmaster Snape constantly berated him about). Eventually his father stopped asking if he was coming home.

Eventually, his father stopped talking to Scorpius at all.

Of course, in the beginning his father had completely overlooked the fact that one of the esteemed "Potter tribe" had been placed outside Gryffindor. James, the oldest, had followed the family line, but it was the younger son who had bucked the family trend. Scorpius heard from Bobby (who hadn't disappointed _either_ of his parents by becoming a Slytherin) the whole sordid story of the latest Potter sprog becoming a Ravenclaw. Apparently, when the Hat had called out Albus' House, the entire room had gone silent. Then, in a fit of familial solidarity, James had stood in his noticeably red-accessorised garb and started clapping, quickly followed by the rest of the extended Golden Trio's children and eventually the entire Hall, as the slight and extremely red-faced newest member of Ravenclaw made his way to his seat.

The next morning (just before Avalon, the Malfoy family owl, dropped Scorpius' letter blistering full of his father's greatest disappointment) Albus had received his own letter with what could best be described as the opposite to a Howler. Potter Senior's voice had echoed over the usual breakfast din with words of encouragement and praise: how "happy they were for Ravenclaw and for Al," and "Grandma Weasley has about all but bought every scrap of blue wool, she couldn't be more chuffed!" and "keep an eye on the _Quibbler_ , Aunt Luna has charmed the paper sapphire for the next month she's so proud (she also says it's your responsibility to keep an eye on the Nargle infestation in the armchair closest to the fire in your common room)."

Of course, _his_ family had been supportive (James had discreetly made it known he had no problem personally punishing anyone who said anything of an unfriendly nature to his younger brother). Scorpius had heard even a sixth year Slytherin had wilted under James' threats; even if James had been just an annoying third year at that time, he still was a Potter, and that meant something. The unending joy everyone around Albus seemed to ooze for his defection from what could probably be seen as a family tradition of roaring Gryffindors caused a new, previously unnamed feeling to well and bubble in Scorpius' chest. When he'd found himself at this particular tree where he now sat that early September morn, after throwing a few sticks at unsuspecting bushes (causing a very annoyed wood-elf to come charging at him), Scorpius realised what the ache in his chest was.

He was jealous.

Scorpius kicked at the snow around the base of his tree, whispered a cushioning and then a warming charm, and settled down with his back against the now-dry bark. He still didn't feel as settled as he normally did on his sojourns to "his place." Not after seeing Albus here again, the one place in the whole of Hogwarts that Scorpius had previously gotten away from all things "rising star and all around good bloke, Albus Severus Potter (named after two of Hogwarts' best Headmasters, don't you know?)".

Scorpius shuffled again, raising his knees almost to his chest to give his book a place to lean on. He wriggled his fingers out of the leather gloves his father had bought for his birthday (a shade of black that was a tad greener than plain black should be; even in his last year at Hogwarts, his father still couldn't accept the fact that Scorpius was, indeed, loyal to the House of the Badger).

Scorpius tried to concentrate on the words (some fantasy novel by an up-and-coming Muggle that Rufus in Arithmancy had given him—and Scorpius really hoped it was just a "thank you for tutoring me" gift instead of the "I possibly have stronger feelings for you so will you please let me suck your cock?" gift he thought the book indicated). When he realised he'd read the same sentence three times without getting anywhere, that instead his thoughts had been focused on those wind-chapped lips lifting at the left just that little too much, because Albus of course _had to have_ a lopsided smile, Scorpius threw down the book in frustration.

"I thought you Hufflepuffs had more respect for books than that."

 _Great. Just fantastic._ Scorpius closed his eyes and counted to three before turning his head toward the owner of the voice, who he'd thought would be at least halfway to the Great Hall by now. He stared at the face that had taunted his dreams (of both the normal and wet variety) and tried to school his face into a look of indifference or annoyance. Either, he hoped, would work; and from the shuffle of Albus' feet and his consequential staring contest with the ground, Scorpius thought it had.

"I don't mean to say you're disrespecting the book—more that throwing it at a plant, which Hufflepuffs are meant to love, could be misconstrued as some sort of House revolt, couldn't it? I mean, isn't there some Hufflepuff code, "Thou shall not harm the potential home of Badgers," or something? I think my cousin Hugo mentioned something about it. You know Hugo, right? He's a few years younger than you but he always says nice things about you when I ask—" Albus' eyes grew wide and that pale skin of his changed to rosy red, spreading across perfect bone structure and an utterly edible neck.

"Not ask—I mean, I _do_ ask but it's just in general, you know, like asking about the rain or the weather, and—"

Scorpius raised both brows now and did not, absolutely did _not_ smirk a little to see the great Albus "speaker for their entire year when it came to having an end of term party in the Ravenclaw dorms, alcohol supplied by Seamus Finnegan of the now quite posh Hogs Head, and _with_ Headmistress McGonagall's permission" Potter come a little unglued during the public speaking for which he was so well known. There had been talk of him going into some sort of politics after Hogwarts; apparently his aunt was working on a place in both the Muggle and Magical worlds, a liaison of sorts to their Prime Minister or some such. It was all talk as far as Scorpius knew, but then again, when was there _not_ talk about Albus Potter?

"Um, can I sit here?" Albus asked sheepishly, his gloved hand pointing to the limited amount of space between Scorpius and the last flat bit of tree trunk.

Scorpius sighed and tilted his head in supplication. He hoped he appeared somewhat nonchalant, because on the inside? On the inside, his heart was racing. Albus Potter was talking to him. Albus Potter, who in their entire schooling history had spoken all of five sentences to Scorpius. No more, no less—this Scorpius could be sure of.

Because he'd counted.

And perhaps written them in his journals.

And maybe went over each and every word for some sort of signal that Albus actually thought of him more than just "that Malfoy chap who's done so poorly in Potions since first year but still insisted on taking it for his N.E.W.T.s for some strange reason" (not that that reason had _anything_ to do with the rather awkward, slouching, dark-haired chap shuffling this way and that beside him).

Of course, Scorpius never could actually find more than what was there in each syllable because, really, what could lie hidden in simple sentences such as these?

"Can I borrow your ink for a moment? I've run out."

"Are you done with that vial?"

"Sorry, didn't see you there!"

"Scorpius will keep an eye out for us, won't you?"

"Oi, Lysander! You were supposed to be on the pitch half an—oh, sorry, Scorpius, thought you were someone else, from the back there! Must be the hair or something."

It was slightly pathetic how often Scorpius had wondered over such simple phrases. As much as he didn't want to like Albus Potter—although he didn't want to _not_ like him, either—it was a tiny bit hard what with him being so freaking nice all the time.

And devastatingly handsome.

Bastard.

"So, why are you always out here?" Albus asked after shuffling and sending a spray of cold snow onto Scorpius' shoe. Scorpius huffed inwardly. He _liked_ these shoes, despite the charms he had to perform to keep them warm and dry; he disliked even the _thought_ of the soft leather staining from stray water drops.

"Sorry," Albus muttered, sliding down to sit beside him. Scorpius felt his body tense as Albus leaned back against the tree, his knees bent toward his chest in the exact same position as Scorpius. Gods, he was so close Scorpius could actually _smell_ him. That weird spicy yet clean scent he always associated with the dark-haired boy. He'd spent hours once at perfumery in France with his Nanny Cissa trying to find something that was the same but never quite could; it was obvious that whatever the extra _thing_ was, was solely Albus alone.

Infuriating, really.

Especially when you added in the fact that Scorpius had had to explain to his grandmother exactly what he was doing spending three out of their four days in Paris muttering about the just "not-quite-rightness" of every tiny bottle that was offered for his nose. Then came the issue of boyfriends and the protestation that, no, Scorpius didn't have one, he just was severely curious. His grandmother hadn't believed a word but thankfully didn't mention anything when she caught him staring at a photo of The Great Harry Potter and his Fabulously Gay Middle Son when it had cropped up (as was the Potter family wont) in even the French version of the _Prophet._

She did, however, give him the most awkward wizard-on-wizard sex talk he'd ever had to sit through (and this included the time his godfather and Uncle Blaise had taken him and Bobby to a whorehouse to literally expose them to the many ways to please a woman). Apparently his Great-Aunt Andromeda had gone through something similar with Teddy, who now was happily involved with a Weasley offspring but at one stage had flirted with the idea of liking Arthur more than Martha.

"So, what exactly do you do out here, Scorpius? I mean, I understand it's pretty and peaceful, but . . . what's the allure?" Albus prattled on, rubbing his hands over muscular thighs where even through thick wool pants Scorpius could see the evidence of what many months upon a broom had formed.

"I sit."

"You sit? Sit and what? I mean, you could possibly sit anywhere. There's lots of places within the castle that are much warmer and drier than here. Maybe not as quiet—" He paused at the sound of Scorpius clearing his throat, because Scorpius couldn't _not_ make a noise to reflect exactly why it was he enjoyed coming out here.

"Oh." Albus eyes widened, the green seeming all the brighter now it was surrounded by white. Scorpius had to look away before he did something stupid.

Like be nice or something.

Because he was, after all, a Malfoy, and admitting that he liked someone who for the past seven years hadn't even bothered to notice his existence would be an exercise in futility. Then again, if he didn't speak a little, he'd never understand why in the past six weeks Albus had been here, in _his_ place, virtually every time Scorpius had been headed there.

"I'll just be . . . I guess I should . . . I mean, I don't mean to be so talkative, but when I'm nervous—and you make me _so_ damn nervous—I tend to prattle on a bit, and I just—" Scorpius cleared his throat, which had nothing to do with interrupting Albus (maybe) and more to do with getting ready to speak himself.

"Right, right. Shutting up now." Albus nodded, his cheeks flushing even pinker than before, with just the cold to make them look that way. Scorpius closed his mouth, the words he was going to say diving back down within his chest because Albus _was_ actually quiet.

Scorpius stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles because he knew he had lovely long legs (Tomas had told him so in fifth year when Scorpius had been walking around the showers, picking up his clothes from where they'd been mostly torn off). They sat in silence, albeit an awkward one for a few minutes, then it stretched on and it was all Scorpius could do to count each breath in and each slow release out, just to keep himself from spluttering something stupid about having had a crush on Albus for years and not doing anything about it, and how maybe every boyfriend (he's not a saint!) he'd had over the past four years of figuring out he liked boys more than girls had fairly similar traits to Albus. There was Josiah, Scorpius' first kiss, whose hair was black but unable to get that naturally messed-up look Albus always seemed to have without the aid of hair product. Then there was Mitchell, a Ravenclaw, who also had green eyes, but when Scorpius had _really_ looked into them they were more hazel. Tomas had an incredible prick and lips perfect for sucking cock, but as a Slytherin he was more interested in plotting Albus' demise, so that ended fairly quickly. Last had been Benjamin Tyler.

Ben. Ben was Muggle-born, had incredibly blue eyes and red hair, and was quite possibly a long-lost Weasley relation. Ben had been lovely. Ben had been everything opposite to Albus, which at the beginning had felt to Scorpius like the perfect answer to his stupid crush. But as time went on and months became almost a year and a half, it was blindingly obvious that it wasn't going to be enough. It wasn't fair to Ben—dear, sweet Ben, who convinced Scorpius to come to his parents' in York for the holidays, who never mentioned anything about Scorpius' eyes tendency to follow Albus Potter around whatever room they were in, who only held his hand that much tighter. Ben who eventually told Scorpius to stop lying to himself and put himself out there before it was too late.

Of course, Scorpius had laughed this off, pretending not to have a clue what Ben was hinting at. Then again, Albus had been walking down to the Quidditch pitch at the time, already wearing his leather pants as he always did before heading to training, and the sight of Albus in leather did _things_ to Scorpius no matter how hard he tried not to look, not to catch Albus' eye. Not that it would have mattered, because in all the time they'd been here at school together Albus had never really noticed Scorpius at all. Which begged the question . . .

"Why are _you_ here?" Scorpius asked, his voice taking on a tone that actually gave him goosebumps at how very like his father he sounded.

"Me?" Albus squeaked, most likely startled at the sound of Scorpius' voice considering he had made a little to-do about being quiet.

"Yes, you. You're always here. For the last few months you've been here at my tree either coming when I'm going or going when I'm coming, or that one time when you hovered around the gates until you _finally_ went inside and I got a detention for being out after curfew." Scorpius found that now he'd started with the talking, he was as bad as the mostly shocked-looking boy beside him.

Total. Verbal. Diarrhoea.

"You got a detention? I'm sor—"

Scorpius turned his body so he was facing Albus. "Don't be sorry. Gods, I can't take it if you're sorry. I hate people being sorry for me. First it was sorry I wasn't in Slytherin like my Dad, and then it was sorry you're gay and your father has basically disowned you because of it. When really, it wasn't like that at all; it was more who I was gay _for_ that was the problem. Actually, you know what? You _should_ be sorry for that, because if you hadn't ignored me so much and made it virtually impossible for me to stop liking you, maybe I wouldn't have gone on and on about you on the few occasions I was home, and then Dad would have bloody tried to understand who I was and—"

"You like me?"

Scorpius wanted to stuff every single word back in his mouth. As it was, his lips were now pursed so tightly he was having to breathe noisily through his nose, and he started to mentally calculate how many months he had left at Hogwarts and how many arranged dates with French wizarding hierarchy it would take for Nanny Cissa to let him finish out his studies at her villa in Nice. She was always on at him to find a nice boy (though she had tolerated and maybe liked Ben, even with his flaming red hair).

"Of course I bloody like you! I can't remember a time when I haven't liked you, but what difference does that make? I can count on one hand how many times you've spoken to me or even acknowledged me, so it's not as if my feelings for you were ever going to matter." He was virtually shaking with the word-vomit. Apparently four years of unrequited emotions followed by the tiniest bit of interest were enough to burst his carefully maintained "I've got a crush on you but won't/can't do anything about it because, well, you're _you_ and I'm _me"_ walls completely apart.

"But you—you've never said anything, and you ignore me when you come here, and this is the only place I know to get you alone and talk because you—you, Scorpius Malfoy, are ruddy intimidating!" Albus finished with an almost-shout. He'd turned to face Scorpius too and now their faces were mere inches apart.

"Me? Intimidating? I'm a bloody Hufflepuff. We're the _least_ intimidating of all the Houses—and as for me, I may not be as brash as you are, Albus Severus "lord of the bloody gays" Potter. Not all of us are loud and proud, you know! Not all of us enjoy being the centre of attention!" Albus had the heart to look slightly hurt by Scorpius' comments and Scorpius had wanted to take the words back the moment he said them.

"Not all of us, Scorpius." Albus started soft and low, his eyes bright and shiny. "Not all of us know how to do anything better to hide just how freaking scared they are about living their life in their father's shadow. Not all of us can slink into the shadows and pretend the world doesn't give two figs about what may be written about us in the papers so we decide to give them things to write instead. Some of us are loud because when we're quiet, all the worries and fears set in, and thoughts that we'd never be good enough for someone so refined, so polite, so knowledgeable as one Scorpius Malfoy."

Albus slid closer, his hand coming up to rest on Scorpius' shoulder, kneading lightly over the thick wool of Scorpius' black robes. "Some of us haven't had a date the whole time they've been at school here, because the one they really want to spend some time with seems to ignore them and show complete indifference, no matter what antics some of us find themselves in just to gain their attention. Some of us wish we could hide in the shadows of an old oak tree and ignore everything and everyone that doesn't matter."

Scorpius swallowed down the lump in his throat. His heart was beating loudly in his ears as he took in what Albus was or wasn't completely saying, more hinting at.

Albus' fingers found their way to the short hairs at the nape of Scorpius' neck. It took all of Scorpius' self control not to melt under the soft, almost tender touch. "All those times I managed to talk to you, there were so many things I wanted to say but couldn't, because—well, you're Scorpius Malfoy. You do things for people without asking and without taking credit. You stay behind after class just to practice your magic. You set up a tutoring program for firsties. You never come to Quidditch matches but nearly always pick the winning team and win the bloody pot on who takes home the House Cup every single year. You're beautiful, and the way I feel about you scares the shit out of me."

Scorpius blinked and blinked again as Albus moved in, the tip of his tongue sliding over lips that were red from the wintry wind and plump. Perfect for kissing and other things that Scorpius now couldn't think of because all he could see were the words Albus had said, and the four sentences that came before.

"Can I borrow your ink for a moment? I've run out" was "I just want an excuse to touch your hand."

"Sorry, didn't see you there!" was "I couldn't take my eyes off you and didn't see you stop before I could get out of the way and not press myself against you, accidentally pushing us both to the floor."

"Scorpius will keep an eye out for us, won't you?" became "I trust you."

"Oi, Lysander! You were supposed to be on the pitch half an—oh, sorry, Scorpius, thought you were someone else, from the back there! Must be the hair or something" became—well, that one had a lot to do with Scorpius having let Ben's mum cut his hair and ending up with it so closely cropped that he did in fact look a lot like Lysander Scamander, until Lysander dyed his blue when Ravenclaw won the House Cup last year.

"So you've liked me and I've liked you and, what, you decided to stalk me instead of speak to me?" Scorpius said, the words jumbling about and coming out more as an accusation than how he'd heard them in his mind.

Albus flushed again and his hand covered almost the entire side of Scorpius' face. It was warm—much warmer than the air around them—and made the calloused pad of Albus' thumb barely scraping the surface of Scorpius skin at the corner of his mouth stand out all the more. "Sort of stalked. Sort of decided this year I wouldn't let popular opinion of me matter, wouldn't let the end of my time here at Hogwarts go by without spending more time with people I like in places where they feel comfortable. So I guess what I'm saying is—" he leant in further, the tip of his nose brushing against Scorpius'— "will you share your tree with me?" He punctuated every word with a light brush of his lips to Scorpius', and by the time he actually pressed their lips together fully, Scorpius was on the verge of passing out from lack of oxygen.

Albus was kissing him. Albus liked him, and for now all Scorpius could do was kiss the bugger back. It was a slow kiss, heady and filled with hesitant touches of tongue to bottom lip. Of breaths intermingling in gasps as Scorpius' hand met Albus' taught thigh. Of Albus' fingers pressing into Scorpius' scalp as he angled them both to better deepen their kiss. Nibbles and nips led into sucking on tongues and open mouths breathing fast and hard and filling the space with noises verging on impolite. Not that it mattered; nobody ever came out here to this spot.

Well, nobody except Scorpius, and now his Albus.

 _His_ Albus. Scorpius liked the sound of that.

Scorpius turned himself more towards Albus, feeling the heat build between them wherever their bodies touched. Finally, after minutes or hours or even a ruddy day, Albus pulled back and smiled, a smile that echoed up into the impossible green of his eyes. Scorpius laughed lightly, his cheeks tingling from the movement, strained almost from how long he'd been snogging Albus. Albus smiled too, his free hand finding Scorpius' where it still lay on his thigh, and Scorpius' heart lurched as he felt Albus link their fingers together.

Scorpius was beginning to realise that everything—every _one_ —that had come before were merely warmups for a kiss such as this. Practice pashes and gropes in dimly lit or dark corridors were nothing compared to his lips finally meeting those of someone he'd wondered about but assumed he'd never, ever get to actually learn the feel of.

"So that's a yes, then?" asked the boy in front of him, eyes shining brightly in the cool, wintry landscape that had faded into random white blobs, with Scorpius' focus taking up residence in swirling greens over the whites and greys and drifts of snow.

Scorpius found himself blinking, trying to figure out what he was agreeing to—but perhaps he should just nod anyway, because if the question was would he like to be snogged some more, then yes—emphatically yes.

Albus laughed, ducking his head slightly so dark hair fell over the green in which Scorpius, only seconds ago, had been lost. Scorpius' fingers, which had been gripping robes that covered toned arms, now twitched, like they had done every time he'd seen the boy in front of him, to push back the unruly locks. It came to Scorpius' attention that after spending god knew how long with his tongue acquainting itself with the inside of the mouth of his once-thought "never going to happen" crush, that indeed Scorpius could, and probably _was_ allowed to do this.

He lifted his left hand and reached up, a moment of bravery coming from somewhere deep inside, but there was a slight tremble that he hoped wasn't obvious as he hesitated, attempting to control his traitorous body.

There was a quiet noise through the other boy's nose and then "You _can_ touch me, you prat!" before Scorpius' fingers finally _did_ slide over soft, dark hair that due to its constant state of disarray he'd always rather imagined to be coarse and not unlike the Krup his Aunt Pansy owned. It as a pleasant surprise, and he must have made some sort of sound to echo the sentiment because the next thing he heard was, "I do _wash_ it, you know. Gods, go around _one day_ —unknowingly, I might add—with a bit of slime in your hair after Herbology and everyone thinks you're a dirty minger. "

"I've never thought you were a 'minger'," Scorpius said automatically, although the word turned awkwardly on his tongue, finally finding his voice albeit a rough and deep tone he'd never heard himself use before.

Clear green eyes yet again met his as Albus raised his head, a pink tinge to his cheeks from either the blasted, ice-chilled wind or Scorpius' words. "Dirty, though?"

Scorpius felt his lips twitch, and a second later the hand that had cupped his face was pulling the soft hair at his neck. He relented and with a roll of his eyes managed a soft "Not so much" before his lips met the reddened, chapped pair in front of him and thoughts of unwashed loutishness left both boys' heads. It was when he broke the kiss for a moment to catch his breath that Scorpius remembered what the question was he was supposed to answer, but hadn't due to the fact that he was enamoured (as usual) with the boy whose own lips were surveying the length of Scorpius' throat with nips hard enough to leave marks.

"Yes. That question before? _Ohgodsthatsnice._ Um, I suppose I can."

He didn't hear anything in return but could feel a smile upon his skin before his lips were captured once more and the unimaginably amazing kissing began again.

Snogging Albus Potter was sure to become one of Scorpius' favourite things.

Even if it meant he had to share his tree.


End file.
